A Wartime Necessity
by Andrew Joshua Talon
Summary: Post HBP. Issue 2: Air war against the Dementors. Inside the USUK conflicts over wizard legal rights. And a cure for lycanthropy...
1. Chapter 1

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A limited series being written by yours truly. No, Harry Potter is not mine. Otherwise, Book 6 may have looked something like this.

----

High above the flaming treetops, through the smoke and sparks rising into the air, a great metal bird blasted through the dark clouds and ash, skimming the tall grass as it leapt over the trees and descended to scant meters above the ground.

It was large, massive engine intakes surrounding a sleek, raptor-like central fuselage. It's wings and tail fins stood at sharp angles, and it's surface was smooth like fine marble.

At speeds faster than the fastest falcon in a stoop it flew, even though it's wings were weighed down with bombs, missiles, and various pods. It arched up over another grove of burning trees, and then just as quickly tilted back down, hugging the ground.

Move fast, and move low, and the enemy will seldom see you until it is too late.

The metal predator closed in on it's target. A set of shapes the pilots of this craft know all too well. A lumpy, massive human shape, lumbering among the trees. A gigantic reptile, with huge bat-like wings, spitting fire as it glides over the ground. And a serpent as long as a subway train, every living thing in it's path dying with a single glance.

The three targets turn at the burst of light from the metal eagle. They are shocked as it rockets over them, soundlessly. In the split second after it has passed, they may realize what is next, but it is nanoseconds too late.

All three explode into flaming, bloody, carcasses, screaming slightly in their agony before death overtakes them.

"_Targets are history."_

Another group of dragons, flying nearby, change their course, following the single metal eagle at incredible speed. They shoot flames at it, as the strike fighter dodges nimbly and pulls away from it's pursuers. The dragons flap their wings harder, struggling, but even with their various enhancements by the instigators of this conflict, they cannot keep up with the combat aircraft.

The metal eagle turns and stays low. It has the advantage in speed, agility, and firepower, but the dragons are more numerous. And the dragons have friends… And those friends have even more friends.

The pilot heads out on his RTB vector. The metal eagle heads for it's concrete and steel nest. But it won't be out of danger there.

There is no front line. It is everywhere.

----

The teenaged girl pants in her stinking hiding place, a garbage can in downtown London. She shakes and shivers, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. She is concealed, and frightened out of her mind.

The sounds outside don't help.

She peeks out from under the lid of her aluminum sanctuary, daring to hope against hope that the loud sounds outside the can are not those of battle, death, and destruction. And once again, her hope is found to be wanting.

It was always green for the Muggle troops, she reflected. Their uniforms were always dark, forest green, to blend into the shadows of the city, or the foliage of the parks. Their helmets were always green, and their vests always black. And their guns were always at their sides.

The Muggle troop's opponents, she reflected, always wore black. Instead of the jumpsuits with hundreds of pockets for various equipment and tools, that kept the Muggles looking human and real, the wizard's robes gave them a spectral shapelessness. They were little different from the dementors that now fought alongside them, in their dress and movements. Always seemingly floating, flying from one place to the next.

The Muggle troops seemed to celebrate in their humanity, their movements careful, precise, but with passion and battle fire behind it all. The Deatheaters rejected their humanity, moving like shadows or wisps of smoke, darkness and terror fueling their fight.

Killing green blasts of light burst out over the street, from every direction, which were answered by the sharp mechanical clacking of automatic weapons fire. By a red telephone booth, a squad of Muggle soldiers poured round after round into a pair of approaching dementors, the ten-foot tall demons slowed but not stopped by the onslaught. A muggle trooper threw a grenade into the face of the dementor and ran, as his comrades ducked for cover. The dementor's head exploded under it's robe, and it fell. It's partner moved on, relentlessly, grabbing a pair of Muggle soldiers into it's huge, dead hands and choking them both violently.

From the rooftops, Muggle snipers took down Deatheaters who poked their heads out of windows on the floors below them. And still more snipers were killed by powerful exploding spells cast at the sides of the buildings, turning the concrete and steel of the rooftops into deadly shrapnel.

The firefights were the constant part. Screams of "_Avada Kadavra!" _and "_Open fire!"_ accompanied the sight of Muggle soldiers and Deatheaters firing their lethal weapons at each other, both sides sharing falling dead, both sides seemingly endless in their reinforcements.

A mortar detonates nearby, sending the girl tumbling out of her hiding place and sprawling onto the ground. Fearfully, she covers her head and shakes, sobbing and wishing she was anywhere else. Wishing she was home, with her friends and family, and not lost in the middle of this war.

The chilling sensation of a dementor washes over her. She tries to summon a happy memory, but the foul creature has wrapped it's freezing hands around her and lifted her up. She sobs in the face of her approaching death, the featureless head with the single, gaping mouth looming nearer, and nearer. She prays…

"RRRREEEECCCHHHH!" The dementor screams in inhuman agony, as flames consume it from behind. It flees, the fires spreading over it and not dying. The girl dizzily turns her head up from the hard pavement, aching from her fall…

"Sergeant! Over here!" Calls a Muggle soldier, bending over her and checking a pulse. He is large, fair-faced, a rifle slung over his side. He is joined by a similarly-dressed red-headed woman, who kneels down and checks her ribs.

"Okay honey, don't worry, you're safe now… Medic! Over here! Now!" The sergeant bends over and looks the girl in the eyes, murmuring soothingly if indistinctively. The terror of the dementor is fading, and she can breathe again.

"Okay honey, we're going to get you out of here… Can you tell me your name? Can you do that for me?" She asks. The girl swallows. Her wand is not in her hand. She nods slightly.

"Ginny… Ginny Weasley …"

-----

"_This is bloody stupid and you know it."_

Harry Potter rolled his eyes.

"_Yes… It is. Anything else you'd like to add?"_

Ron's voice fell silent on the other side of the Muggle radio. Harry nodded confidently.

"_Didn't think so. Okay… Let's go."_

His Firebolt humming between his legs, Harry willed the racing broom forward, flying easily between the trees. A fair distance away, Ron Weasley shadowed his friend on his own broom, a fairly new Comet 360 that Harry had gotten him for his last birthday.

Silently, the two approached the tall, mesh fence, with barbed-wire encircling the top of it. Harry looked around, carefully, before floating above the deadly spikes and flying forward. Ron copied the maneuver.

The compound, Harry reflected, was fairly uncomplicated in it's layout. It had only recently been converted from a Muggle storage area to a holding camp. Ron, the moment he'd heard about "prison camps for wizards", had very nearly gone ballistic and charged into the camp with his wand blazing. Harry, however, did not want his best mate getting himself killed. So, stealth was the order of this night.

"Okay… Let's start looking around," Harry suggested in a whisper. Ron nodded, and carefully descended. He pulled out his wand, muttered a few words, and a moment later his wandtip began to spew mist. The green lines of detection lasers came into view. Both young men carefully flew through the lines and finally landed on the ground. They both, however, stayed on their brooms, floating almost as though they were on the moon with long, slow leaps from spot to spot.

An _Alohamora _to a door lock, and they entered a poorly lit warehouse they'd selected to start looking first. It was heartbreaking, to Harry, when their eyes adjusted.

Dozens of witches and wizards, of all ages, were held in identical, clear cubical cells. Most of them were sleeping on cots provided for them. A few were pacing their cells. Attached to them all was a small, black cubical that Harry could only guess was a loo. At least the Muggle troops gave them _some _privacy…

Ron's ears were burning red in rage, as his knuckles turned white from grasping his wand so hard. He ground his teeth in anger, and Harry knew he wanted to start freeing each and every one of these witches and wizards right now. He wanted to as well.

However…

"Ron…" Harry whispered, and held his shoulder. Ron's body tensed, before he took a deep breath and nodded to his best friend with a scowl.

The redhead didn't speak, but motioned to Harry to take the lead. Harry nodded, and together, the two moved through the silent warehouse. He wanted to stop looking into the cells, but his eyes just would not stick to the path ahead. Though it didn't look like the wizards and witches being held were being mistreated, the sight of so many of his people locked up made him feel ill.

A blonde woman and her husband read their two small children a story in one of the cells. The adults looked tired, afraid, and sad, but their children looked content and peaceful. An old man Harry recognized from the Quidditch World Cup was looking through a Muggle fashion magazine, for women, and looking rather interested. A teenaged boy and girl made out in full view…

__

They can't see us, Harry realized. And yet, they could see into the cells. What kind of magic…?

__

Technology, Harry. Technology. Something like the one-way glass Harry had seen in those cop shows the Dursleys had sometimes watched. He kept looking about, before noticing that Ron wasn't with him anymore. He swore under his breath.

"_Ron?"_ He hissed. He looked about frantically.

Before groaning.

Ron was busy beating on the door to one of the cells. On the other side, his twin brothers, Fred and George, were banging back. Harry rushed over.

"Ron! Stop! They'll hear-!" Harry froze. His gaze had run over the far wall as he'd run over to Ron, and in that second, he'd seen a security camera.

One with a blinking red light.

__

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Harry mentally screamed, just before the sirens of the intruder alert blared.

"_Freeze!"_

"Freeze! Drop your weapons and put your hands on your head!" As though by Apparation, a dozen armed guards surround them both. Ron glares angrily at the assembled, stone-faced soldiers, as does Harry. But both drop their wands and brooms, and hold up their hands. They resist the urge to look at each other.

Behind the glass, Fred and George slump against the door. They may not be able to hear or see through the walls of the cell, but the abrupt cease of the pounding is message enough.

-----

"We've got another lot in from London, Hermione!"

"Got it, Mum!" Hermione Granger sighed, wiping sweat from her forehead with a moistened handkerchief. She steeled herself mentally, once again, before letting out a sigh and turning from the mirror in the bathroom. She readjusted her white nurse's uniform and her hat, before she went back out into the waiting room of her parent's dentistry practice.

Immediately, she took the first wounded soldier by the arm and helped him limp to one of the converted examination rooms. She quickly ran through the standard checks-Concussion, broken bones-And in a few minutes, pronounced him with only some fairly minor cuts and bruises. She helped him out to the waiting room, and quickly took up the next soldier, a woman with a bloody bandage covering her eye.

"Wotcher, 'Mione," she murmured to the nurse. Hermione paused.

"Have we… Met?" She asked, blinking. The woman grinned slightly, and her features morphed. Hermione gasped.

"Tonks!"

"In the flesh!" The woman exclaimed cheerfully. She raised her un-injured eyebrow at her. "Hm… You look good in white."

"Er, thank you," Hermione replied evenly. She shook her head. "What the devil are you doing here? And in uniform, no less?"

"Well, as you can imagine, after You-Know-Who went public, what with blasting the Ministry to rubble with a dragon attack, being a wizard or witch wasn't exactly a very healthy thing. So! Me, and a couple o' others joined up with Her Majesty's Finest. Shacklebolt's doing just fine as the Minister's new assistant…"

"Have you heard about… Harry? Ron?" Hermione asked, keeping her voice level. Tonks sighed and shook her head.

"They were captured a few nights ago, 'Mione. Trying to stage a breakout at the Surrey Holding Facility." Tonks shook her head. "Don't know how the hell they've managed it, but you can't Apparate on or off the property. It may be new Muggle tech… May be some ancient magic on the site… Who knows?" Hermione sat down slowly on a chair in the exam room, looking down at the tile. Tonks stood up and took her hands into her own grasp.

"Hey… It'll be okay. Harry, at least, has some legal ties to the Muggle world. That'll keep him from being considered a POW. Ron… Well…" Tonks sighed. Hermione nodded.

"On the other hand… Fudge has managed to do something right. After the current minister was killed… As most of our government's in shambles, he's managed to speak with the Muggle Prime Minister, and the US President." Tonks smiled. "It's kind of iffy… But they've agreed for defections to the Muggle side, provided there are a few… You know…"

"I've been hiding, myself," Hermione shrugged. She sighed. "It's so _frustrating!_ But, my parents and I agree I wouldn't do any good if I were captured."

"Well, you are allowed to start using your magic as you wish," Tonks said with a strained smile. "But… Well… The Ministry of Magic has effectively ceased to exist. And with that gone, you get the open warfare we've had for the past few months."

"I haven't heard much," Hermione admitted. "Ever since Mum and Dad turned their practice into a clinic, I've been busy."

"Well, You-Know-Who's pulled out a lot of stops," Tonks grimaced. "Giants, dragons, dementors, basilisks-You name it, he's got it out, and somehow, he keeps making more. Not to mention all the Inferi out and about."

"Any good news?" Asked Hermione flatly. Tonks shrugged.

"Well… The Americans are helping out quite a lot. Their air and sea power is keeping the war confined to Europe. And their reconnaissance stuff is helping us fight You-Know-Who's forces better." Tonks groaned. "But… He's figured out how to make Inferi use magic. And, though the Muggles can keep shooting down dragons and such, You-Know-Who keeps creating more. Smaller, deadlier, faster-At this rate, we'll still be fighting him when phoenixes get bored with coming back to life!"

"Wait, wait… What about that agreement you mentioned? What were some of the restrictions?" Hermione asked plaintively. Tonks sighed.

"Well… For starters, if you were a government official in the Ministry of Magic, you are expected to begin working for the British Government, in roughly the same area you were before. They need witches and wizards on their side, 'Mione. Not to mention that we keep losing office workers to the Imperious and what-not. The other requirement is that… Well…" Tonks winced.

"Any and all witches/wizards old enough to enter the armed services, or civil services, must do so, or they will be relocated to a holding compound for the duration of the war."

"That's… That's outrageous!" Hermione seethed. "We're not monsters! Or criminals! This isn't fair!" Tonks nodded with a frown.

"I know, Hermione, I know… It isn't. I mean… I can see their reasoning, I suppose. They want to keep track of us all…"

"It still isn't right!" Hermione growled. "We're still citizens of Britain!"

"Well… Technically, since we fell under another government's jurisdiction, we're essentially foreigners," Tonks sighed. Hermione fumed.

"Does this apply to Muggleborns?"

"No. It doesn't. Which is good… But, until the government can find the time and people to put together naturalization hearings for a couple million new citizens, we're kind of stuck." Hermione sighed, turned, and looked out the window. The cold gray sky above her small town had never been more gloomy or oppressive to the young witch in her life. Tonks stood up and gave her a hug from behind.

"We'll work it through, Hermione… I promise." Tonks murmured comfortingly. Hermione nodded, though inside, she was wishing that the person holding her was not Tonks, but someone who was being held captive by her own government.

__

Harry… Ron…

-----

****

More to come…

Should Harry and Ron become fighter pilots or covert ops specialists?

Will Cornelius Fudge and other MoM survivors be able to establish equal rights for the wizards in the Muggle world?

What feelings do the average soldier in this war have about their enemy?

Find out… Presumably soon…


	2. Chapter 2

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Continued…

----

It wasn't the sights of the war that were disturbing to Lieutenant William Takenue, of Chicago, Illinois. High above the ground, in his F/A-22 Raptor, war was of explosions, cold data, and ever changing skies. He was a falcon, a predator, a _raptor._

The enemy were not people-They were prey. He was to rake them to death with talons of depleted uranium and concentrated explosives. He was to ambush them and render them to pieces without them knowing who or what had ended their lives. He was Death, and his fighter was his scythe.

No, what disturbed him most was how much he _enjoyed_ these facts. How, upon that first weightless leap his fighter took from the runway, his eyes narrowed, his teeth bared in a grin, and all his fear and doubt and frustration were replaced by a cool, calculating, but vibrant glee.

"_Mwahahahahahahahaha!"_

His maniacal cackle could not be heard by the dementors flying at 40,000 feet, but ever since his squadron, the 531st Tactical Squadron (codenamed "Widowmakers") had been transferred to RAF Menwith Hill, the dementors had seemingly begun to sense the presence of this pilot in particular.

And when he appeared, they ran.

Though they were only a small group, they were staying far apart from each other. If they were too bunched up together, they'd learned, they made very easy targets.

Their change in tactics, however, did not save them. The first died in a blast of cannon fire-If they did die. The other scattered, attempted to flee through the cloud cover. Takenue only grinned.

The Raptor came about, switching to super cruise mode and diving into the clouds. He switched to infrared scanning, and smirked when the moving dead spots of low temperature showed up.

__

"Gotcha." Six rounds of cannon fire later, and the dementors were reduced to shards on the IR scanner. A thump on the wing of his fighter made Takenue turn his head and raise an eyebrow. A dementor had grabbed onto the starboard wing, and was now trying to tear it apart. Takenue accelerated, before toggling the stick sharply and swinging upside down, before diving at a 90 degree angle. The HUD projected on the inside of his helmet alerts him to his air speed, and the rapidly dropping altitude.

__

Mach 1.62... Mach 1.83... Mach 2.01... Mach 2.24...

The altimeter was swiftly shrinking, as he dropped under forty thousand feet… Then twenty thousand… Then ten…

He spared a look out the canopy. The Dementor has crawled to the reinforced glass, it's robe torn away from the speed, it's rotting flesh rippling and flapping unpleasantly in the extreme slipstream. It's mouth, round and spiked in a circle of jagged, rotting teeth, opens and seems to hiss at him.

__

Mach 3.0... Mach 3.22... Mach 3.45...

The ground is rushing up at William. The altimeter is down to the thousands… Then the hundreds…

__

Mach 3.67... Mach 3.79... Mach 3.88... Mach 4.02...

He engages the afterburners, and fights back a scream of anguish as he pulls up violently. His helmet HUD registers negative 9 gees pulling at himself and the aircraft. The Raptor groans slightly around him, it's inertial compensators kicking in, his seat moving back slightly with the force. The gee counter is up to negative 12 Earth gravities. He feels as though his eyes will be crushed into jelly…

He levels out, a blur, as he passes a small sheep cottage on a hill overlooking the vast moors of Southern Scotland. A few seconds pass, before the cottage is shattered like a glass statue from the sonic boom, erupting over the rocks and sending the herds of sheep and their shepherds scattering in panic.

Takenue takes deep breaths, the cockpit's inertial compensation system moving his ejection seat in reaction to the extreme forces. He checks over at the starboard wing. The Dementor is gone. The surface of his fighter is covered in claw marks as the dark creature tried to hang on. The imprint of it's horrible mouth is pressed against the otherwise smooth polymer-glass mesh of the canopy.

He sighs under his breath. He knows that showboating like this is going to get him a severe dressing down once he reaches home. His was supposed to be a simple patrol mission-Not a Tom Cruise imitation.

__

Tom Cruise is a dish rag, William thought, pulling up and heading back to his patrol route. He'd deal with the brass over another one of his stunts when the time came.

----

"Once again, Harry… Tell me why you and your friend were breaking into the compound." The RAF man was still implacable, his gaze boring into Harry's own stubborn glare. At either side of the thin boy were stone-faced guards, armed with heavy rifles. Harry still stayed silent, defiant, the energy of his suppressed anger crackling behind his green eyes.

"Harry… Just how long are you going to keep this up?" The interrogator asked gently. The boy had only asked to see Ron, his friend. He had not asked for a lawyer, or to call his folks. The impression he gave the interrogator was of an orphan, a lonely child who had had to fight for life from the day he was born.

Harry made no response. There was no need. They knew what he wanted. They both did.

"Harry… Don't you want some food? Are you sure you don't want any?" The interrogator asked, indicating the untouched pitcher of ice water, and the bowl of biscuits in the center of the table. The answer, of course, was more defiant silence. The interrogator sighed.

"Harry… Unless you want to make things worse for your friends, you _are_ going to talk to me, and you will do so, _now,"_ the interrogator said calmly, though his teeth were gritting. He'd tried patience, tried being nice… To hell if he was a minor, he was a _wizard_, and so far no rules of conduct had been written for captured wizards.

The door to the room opened, casting yellow light in place of the light blue of the fluorescents.

"That's quite enough, left-tenant," a cool, American-accented female voice stated. The interrogator gaped up at the source of the voice, as Harry turned in his chair.

A tall, brunette woman, whose hair curved inward around her scowling, heart-shaped face, was standing in the doorway. Her arms were crossed over her chest, dressed in green fatigues, combat boots, and a black, bullet-proof vest. Her blue eyes blazed at the RAF officer in a fury that made him gulp.

"Wha-What are you doing here? Who are you?" He demanded. The woman's glare did not let up.

"Chief Warrant Officer Colleen Bristol. I'm the JAG attaché to General Braxtan, and I'm here to place Mr. Potter under the protection of the United States government." She slapped down a folder of paperwork and pushed it to him, which he took and quickly skimmed, his eyes widening.

"But-But-He's under our jurisdiction!"

"Not anymore. General Braxtan has been appointed the supreme commander of all NATO and Allied forces in Europe. As such, he has the authority petition civilian and military courts to transfer detainees and change their custodial status at any time. "_Furthermore_, considering that Mr. Potter is, in fact, a minor, _and_ a citizen of Great Britain, he has all the rights of any other citizen who is arrested and charged with a crime. However, as his crime took place in a compound under US control, we are taking full responsibility for retaining custody of him until such time as a proper UK court is arranged to hear his case." Her eyes burned more fiercely, and the interrogator gulped. Harry just sat, gaping at her.

"In addition, _you_ have held Mr. Potter without regards to the due process of the law, or his civil rights. Even given his ambiguous legal status, he is still entitled to legal representation. A right _you_, sir, have overlooked. In other words, I will now act as Mr. Potter's official legal representative, until such time as he is acquitted, or he chooses another lawyer to act on his behalf. I believe all the paperwork is in your hand. Now, if you'll excuse myself and Mr. Potter, we'll be going now."

"_Wait_ just a minute here, woman! Since when do _Americans_ have the right to detain _our_ citizens!" The interrogator demanded, as Harry stood to leave. Bristol rolled her eyes in a way that reminded Harry of Hermione.

"Because, we have a court order by a legally-recognized civilian judge to take charge of Mr. Potter, given the _atrocious_ behavior of the RAF in handling his case. Good day, _sir,_" she stated flatly, taking a confused-looking Harry by the shoulder and gently guiding him out of the interrogation room, leaving a flabbergasted trio of RAF troops.

"Er… Thanks," Harry said quietly, as Bristol moved them along the brightly-lit hallways of the RAF base. The strange looks the pair received were ignored by the American officer.

"No problem. Just doing my job," she replied with a small, reassuring smile. "Now then, we've got to get moving…"

"Er… Why? Where are we going?" Harry asked, blinking. He was still having trouble registering this latest event in what was becoming an increasingly long day.

"General Braxtan, actually, would like to speak with you."

"Why?"

"Well, you _are_ the Boy-Who-Lived, right?" Bristol pressed. "The one to survive Voldemort, what, five times? Six?"

"Er, well, yes-" Harry stammered.

"Then we're going to need your help if we're going to win this war," Bristol concluded, guiding him around a cart being pushed by a medical officer. "Now then, this way please…"

----

"Bloody hell, am I glad to be out of that cell," George grumbled, popping his neck with a grimace. Fred, next to him, nodded emphatically.

"Too right. I couldn't stand another minute cooped up in that bloody fish bowl…" They took another step forward as the long line moved. Fred looked about the desolate prison compound, now littered with US troops patrolling the area, handing out coffee and donuts-Hell, a few were playing with a couple of wizard children who giggled. In the mix were a few Royal Army troops, who also joined their American counterparts-But none of them were of the former prison guards. Fred repressed a shudder. Those blokes had been terrifying…

"Next!" George elbowed his twin, and the two moved forward. Both brothers grinned at the woman sitting behind the desk at the entrance to the camp, now open. On the outside, dozens of wizards and witches were hugging, crying and leaving with their families, some to buses provided by the local Muggle authorities, others simply apparrating away the moment they were handed back their wands.

"Names?" The pretty blonde American woman asked again, looking slightly annoyed. Fred coughed as George grinned.

"Pleasure to meet you, love," said George.

"And Likewise," Fred added. The woman rolled her eyes.

"Please… I've had a long day. I'm not _interested_ in another wizard hitting on me."

"Aw, but it'd _two_ hot wizards hitting on you, love!" Fred gasped, looking offended. George grinned his most charming smile.

"And doing other things to you, if you'd like," he murmured seductively. The woman death glared them both and pulled out a handgun. She leveled it at George's crotch, eliciting a slightly terrified expression from the Weasley.

"Would you like to remain _perfect_ twins?" The woman asked pointedly. Fred and George gulped.

"Fred Weasley. And this is my brother, George."

"Good. Now then… Here are your wands," she stated, after another soldier had rummaged about in a large container and handed her two wands labeled **F. WEASLEY** and **G. WEASLEY.** The twins took them both.

"Oh yes… There's a memo to you from a Miss Weasley… Your sister, I believe?"

"Is she okay?" Fred asked. The woman nodded.

"Yes. She wanted to let you know to come to St. George's Municipal Hospital. She's there with the rest of your family… Something about your brother Bill?" She handed the note over to the twins, who, after looking it over, nodded to each other and grinned back at the blonde.

"Call us?"

"When I'm desperate," she shot back, though she was smiling as the Weasley twins headed off, and apparated away.

----

What the two Weasley twins found as they popped into the room the nice muggle nurse at the front desk had told them their family was in, was something both had thought they'd never see again.

Their brother, Bill, grinning without a lick of wolfishness in his face or eyes. A very happy Fleur was in his lap, as the rest of the family crowded around. Mrs. Weasley was crying and hugging a bemused-looking Muggle doctor, while Ginny, Percy, Charlie, and their father were excitedly chatting amongst themselves around the hospital bed.

"What the… Bloody hell!" Exclaimed Fred and George in synch. The two rushed over to their brother and joined Fleur in hugging him.

"What the hell! You look brand new!"

"What happened?"

"Indeed! That's what we've been _waiting_ to find out," Percy added in his too-self-important voice, as he adjusted his glasses. The Muggle doctor managed to free herself from Mrs. Weasley's sobbing grip, and brushed her short pink hair out of her eyes. She smiled.

"Well, um… He was injured in a firefight and so he was brought here… And when the subject of him being a partial werewolf came up, I started some research…"

"You mentioned something called an RMA inhibitor?" Ginny asked, frowning slightly. The doctor smiled and shook her head.

"RNA. Basically, RNA is a kind of messenger between the cells of the body, that carry little bits and pieces of DNA, in order to send different growth commands and such to different cells."

"You mean… Like owls?" Asked Arthur, looking fascinated. The doctor nodded.

"Yes, I suppose… _Anyway_, I was doing some bloodwork, and I found a certain RNA signal that matched some blood samples we've collected from a few dead werewolves the lab boys dissected… And, I had a hunch… Anyway, the RNA inhibitors are basically subtlety altered RNA signals that program your brother's cells to reject the werewolf RNA signals. It took a while, a month or two, but we've finally managed to perfect it." She grinned. "Your brother is completely cured."

"Really? He never has to worry about-about transformations?" Mrs. Weasley sobbed happily. The doctor (Fred belatedly noticed her nametag-Dr. Rogue) nodded.

"Nope! Er… He'll need some booster shots, every few months, to keep the RNA inhibitors at full strength, but otherwise…" Dr. Rogue found herself smothered in a full Weasley family hug.

"Erkh…" Her eyes bulged. "But… You shouldn't… Thank me…"

"What? Why?" Aruthr asked, confused. They had completely forgotten about Bill and Fleur, who were now busy making up for lost time in the hospital bed. Rogue shrugged.

"Well, um, I couldn't created werewolf RNA inhibitors without some blood samples from a living werewolf-The dead cells are already coagulating and rendered pretty much useless by the time we get to them-But, lucky for all of us, one was willing to volunteer…"

----

"Ow! Ow! Bloody hell, I didn't think Muggles employed _vampires_."

"Oh, stop being such a baby, Remus," Tonks giggled, as the muggle nurse withdrew another large syringe of the werewolf's blood. He growled in annoyance.

"_ME?_ You're the one who fainted at the sight of all the needles! You don't have to get blood drawn!"

"And I'm enjoying every minute of it," Tonks cackled. The Muggle nurse smiled apologetically, then frowned at the Metamorphagus.

"Er… This may seem rude, but, um… Are you two, together?" Tonks grinned and shook her head, as Remus blinked in shock.

"Nah… I'm just his annoying best friend and sorta-little sister." She shrugged. "There was… Some confusion, but it's all good."

"That's good," the nurse purred slightly, smiling at a very nervous-looking Lupin. He coughed. Tonks grinned evilly.

"Besides, after what you did for them, I think the Weasleys are gonna give you Ginny in thanks. Can't say I won't envy her…"

"_Tonks!"_

"What? You'll _love _her. The Gryffindor boys think she's lovely. And Harry doesn't have any interest in her, you're free to go! Shag her brains out!"

"_Honestly!_ Is _sex_ the only thing you think of?" Remus asked in exasperation. Tonks rocked back and forth in her chair, smirking.

"Nah… I also think about-WAH!" _CRASH!_

"Certainly not about your balance," the werewolf noted dryly. A muffled curse was his only response as the nurse giggled.

----

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TBC… Please review!

What happened to Ron?

Where are the American Wizards in all this?

And what will General Braxtan talk to Harry about?

Suggest answers to these questions, and more!


	3. Chapter 3

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Continued…

----

The flight on the UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter had not been especially pleasant for Harry. Even with the headphones he was wearing, the loud sounds of the engines made it difficult for him to think. And it was bumpy as they passed through a low-lying storm.

Next to him in the cabin, Lt. Bristol just smiled and stayed close, trying to comfort him. Though he appreciated the effort, he was still feeling rather uncomfortable with the older (and very attractive) woman. Finally, the pilot stated "We're here!"

Harry looked out one of the cabin portholes and gaped. They were over the English Channel, as the sun just began to rise, and though he knew they'd been going a ways (as they'd had to refuel a few times during the seven-hour trip), he didn't think they'd have gone all the way to the Channel itself.

And far below, steamed a massive aircraft carrier. He'd read about them in one of the books Dudley had kept in the spare bedroom.

"Wow," he murmured. Though he'd seen Hogwarts, and the Quidditch World Cup Stadium, and had been awestruck with both, they seemed to pale with the sheer _size_ of the Muggle warship they were steadily getting closer to. Colleen grinned.

"Like her? She's the _Ronald Reagan-_ the most advanced warship on Earth. Well, _non-magic_ one, anyway." Colleen sighed. "I still keep wondering about keeping most of the command and control assets at sea-We've lost plenty here too."

"Huh? What do you mean? How much?" Harry asked, blinking. Colleen grimaced.

"The _HMS Ark Royal,_ and her task force, were destroyed by a dragon attack. The _USS Enterprise,_ _George Washington, _and _Abraham Lincoln_ battlegroups were all lost too, in Voldemort's initial assault, by every nasty, giant creature you could think of." She frowned. "It's bizarre. From what we know, he first came to power criticizing your Ministry of Magic and playing the fences politically. And then, he just went off on a racist gang war." She looked critically at him. "Harry, we have no idea how he got so many forces all at once. Or, why he decided to mount a major military campaign against the non-magic folks, when before, he's never had any interest in it. Oh, yeah, and the fact that he's getting wizards and witches by the hundreds to join him. What gives?"

Harry thought hard.

"Well… It's possible he's appealed to the wizarding community's distrust of Muggles. Er, non-magic folk," Harry amended at Colleen's confused look. "Though I'm not sure how he could do it on such a large scale…"

Colleen shrugged. "Well… Hopefully, when we meet with General Braxtan, he'll be able to fill in a lot of the holes we have, with your knowledge, and some intelligence from some other wizards we've taken into custody." Harry flashed her a suspicious look.

"Relax, Harry: We aren't torturing anyone here, or holding them against their will. We're allowing them their wands, just like you, after all. And after we mentioned we were getting you out of the slammer, a number were very interested in helping us out."

"Who?" Harry asked, interested. "Ron? The Weasleys?"

"Ron's still in RAF custody, though we're working on it," Colleen sighed. "We were able to get you out because you had some legal standing in the non-magic… Muggle world." She looked at him in concern.

"I spoke with your legal guardians, the Dursleys… They _were_ joking about asking that you be executed by firing squad, right?"

Harry's bland look gave Colleen a chill.

----

The spacious quarters on the _Reagan_ for the general seemed rather Spartan in their décor, Harry noted. But he soon found he didn't care about that when he saw who was in the room. He gaped.

"Ah… Harry Potter… Or do you prefer Mr. Potter?" The powerfully-built man with graying blond hair and full beard, in a US Army uniform asked, his eyes surveying the teenager with a warm, though somewhat cautious, look. Harry did not take his eyes off the thin, blonde woman with aristocratic features, who was sitting on a couch in the quarters and serenely drinking tea.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," Narcissa Malfoy spoke demurely, her cool gaze studying him. Harry was suddenly _very_ glad he had his wand in his holster at his wrist. Colleen, sensing his tension, put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He stiffened instinctively, before relaxing, though not entirely.

"Mrs. Malfoy," he returned coolly, carefully watching her. General Braxtan raised a bushy eyebrow. The blonde witch smiled slightly.

"Actually, it's Black now," she explained. Harry blinked at her awkwardly, as Braxtan cleared his throat loudly.

"Ms. Black has become a very influential member of the magical community, Mr. Potter, in the wake of the war. She has personally overseen the evacuation and relocation of thousands of witches and wizards fleeing the mainland, with the inheritance she came into from her estate," the general explained. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"_Your_ estate?"

"Yes. My inheritance was, until recently, in control of my husband. The details… Are not important. What is important is that I am offering my full support to the magical community, and the Allied Muggle Nations, in any way I can."

"For your own benefit," Harry growled. Narcissa's smile became a little colder.

"I feel it is in my own best interests to support the Muggles in this war, yes. But it is also advantageous to the large numbers of wizards and witches who want no part in this conflict."

"Ms. Black has been at the forefront of our efforts to convince the European powers that not all wizards are evil," Braxtan explained. "As you know, Voldemort sought to turn the wizarding and non-wizarding worlds against each other, to weaken both in preparation for his own, eventual take over." The general ignored the wince that appeared on the former Mrs. Malfoy's face at the mention of the Dark Lord.

"Actually, at the start, he merely intended to use the… Incidents that started the war as a means to seize control of the magical communities in most of Europe and Western Asia." Narcissa leaned back slightly in the sofa. "The Dark Lord planted information that the locations of the central wizarding governments in Europe were terrorist headquarters. When you destroyed them, the European wizarding populace panicked. The Dark Lord, using his forces, protected the wizarding communities, which made them all too happy to swear their allegiance to them in return for security. And through these new connections, he mounted his campaign against the Muggles." Narcissa grimaced.

"The use of basilisks and nundus in clearing out entire cities was always one of his favorite plans…"

"In any event, Miss Black's only requirement for providing us with this information was to meet with you, regarding your financial assets and intelligence you have regarding Voldemort, that we can use to ultimately defeat him and win this war," Braxtan cut in, giving a reproving look to both witch and wizard. Narcissa nodded. Harry grimaced.

"I will need to speak with Harry alone, if you please," Narcissa smoothly stated. Braxtan sighed, looked to Harry, who nodded, and walked out of the quarters. Colleen hesitated, before following and closing the hatch behind her. The Boy Who Lived and Ms. Black stared at each other for a few moments.

"You're looking well, Harry… Especially considering… All that has happened, recently," Narcissa began, her first move in this mental chess game less subtle than she'd like, but different times, and all that.

"As are you… Despite being on the run from the Death eaters," Harry returned, basilisk venom behind his words. Narcissa nodded.

"I know, you have no reason to trust me, Harry… Kreacher came to me and told me of your whereabouts the night… My cousin was slain. I didn't want to. I had no interest in seeing you dead and no interest in helping my thankless husband. But, as you are aware, there are ways to prevent the Ministry from knowing if you are casting an Unforgivable… Especially in the home of a dark wizard," Narcissa said flatly. She decided to play it straight, abandoning her early stealth and guile. Her motives were, for once, completely on the surface-Most of them, anyway, she reflected.

Harry blinked.

"He… He used the Imperius on you?"

"No… Like you, I have learned how to throw it off when pressed," Narcissa said softly. The dark look in her eyes, of concealed pain, drove the point home.

"…_Oh."_

Narcissa ran a few fingers lightly through her hair, her eyes closed in a wince at the memory.

"Harry… Though the Ministry of Magic is, in essence, gone, I still retain several rights and privileges through Gringotts. For instance… The right to adopt you." She looked at Harry's guarded expression, and sighed.

"Draco was my husband's son more than mine, otherwise he wouldn't have become such a spiteful, arrogant idiot. Pure embarrassment for me, mind you. I was expected to nurse him and offer comfort to him when Lucius felt he needed it, and the rest of the time to blend in with the house elves," Narcissa spat with restrained bitterness. She looked up at Harry, and dropped the haughty air, looking vulnerable and somewhat lost. Harry kept himself guarded, but his heart began to go out to the expression of sorrow on her face.

"I… I have never been able to hold him. He was snatched out of my arms when he was born. I was only allowed to hold him when the press was about, to make it look good for Malfoy. And now, despite my efforts, my pleas… He has become a Deatheater, and he no longer wishes to see me." Narcissa looked down at the carpeted deck, her expression sad. Harry fidgeted slightly.

"So, Harry… No. I have no desire to stab you or anyone else in the back. I wish to stab my ungrateful husband and that master of his in the heart," she hissed. "And I need you to help me do it." She took a deep breath and let the cool, controlled mask sink back into place.

"So, what do you say, Harry? Do we have an arrangement?"

Harry took a deep breath, let it out, and looked Narcissa dead in the eyes.

"Yes… We do…"

----

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Okay… Having trouble with the other parts, but mark my words, next chapter answers a lot. Until then, read and review!


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